


Bleed Magic

by Inu_Sama



Series: HP FICS [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dark Harry Potter, M/M, Metamorphmagus, POV Regulus Black, Regulus Black Lives, Slow To Update, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: After Voldemort's death, Harry is dying when he gets a letter. Harry finds out that not all is as it seems and that certain meddling headmasters are not to be trusted.OR where harry finds out some shitty things about his life and gets black-out drunk and ends up botching a ritual that sends him back in time.First-person POV





	Bleed Magic

_**Harry** _

The war was over, Voldemort was dead. Actually, a _lot_ of people were dead. I stood on shaky legs, the now dull red eyes of my enemy forever frozen wide in fear.

I could hear the others celebrating, relieved that the monster that had terrorised them for decades was finally well and truly gone.

Some were mourning, falling to their knees as the realisation finally hit them, was finally _allowed_ to hit them; their loved ones were dead. Friends, cousins, lovers, parents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles. Everyone lost someone.

Except me. I had no one in the first place--

But...that wasn't true, was it?

I couldn't take my eyes off him, off Voldemort. Sure, I'd seen a dead body before, but this was different. It felt _wrong_ to see someone so powerful look so small and still in death.

Voldemort's visage had always been scary, but now it just looked pathetic. The man was dangerously thin and pale, haggard-looking like he was sick, with heavy dark bags under his glassy eyes.

There was no denying it, Voldemort had a _presence_ about him that was jarring in its absence. I thought I'd feel relief, thought I would scream into the heavens in victory like some ancient Viking but...no.

I was numb. I felt like I'd just lost a large part of myself and I was _aching_ with the icy emptiness left behind.

"Harry?"

It was Ron. His lips were twisted into a grim line that made him look older, harder than I remembered. It was an expression that didn't suit him. Every visible patch of pale skin was covered in dirt and his clothes were ripped and bloody, but it was him; he was alive.

I didn't notice how hard I was gripping my wand until he gently pried my fingers from the wood and slipped it back into the holster on my arm.

That little bit of contact was enough to break me from the shock and pain of killing Voldemort - someone I thought I _hated_ , so why does it _hurt_ so much? - and twisted around to pull my best friend into my arms.

I pressed my face into the crook of the other boy's neck that still somehow smelt like warm fires, ugly homemade jumpers, too loud laughter and the thick taste of melted chocolate frogs. It smelt like _home_.

I felt like I didn't deserve a home anymore.

I was crying now, a pained whine getting caught in my throat as Hermione came up behind me and wrapped her arms around us both. Ron tightened his grip when I started shaking and my sobs only became louder because I didn't deserve this.

I was a _murderer!_ Why were they trying to comfort me?! I didn't _deserve_ their compassion!

God, it _hurt so much!_ I hadn't cried this hard since the first time I realised the Dursleys would never love me, no matter what I did. That kind of despair and raw _pain_ were tenfold now because it felt like I'd just cut short an entire _future--_

"Shh, it's alright mate. We'll get through this, we always do." Ron murmured into my hair, sharing a worried look with Hermione.

But once I started, I couldn't stop, it seemed. My heart thumped painfully against my bruised ribcage and sounded in my ears with a dull roar that was getting louder the longer we stood there.

With every pulse it felt like the shards of ice were thickening, sharpening themselves against my vulnerable insides. My every breath felt like fire in my lungs as my throat clogged with tears.

"We have to get him out of here before everyone starts crowding." Hermione whispered, out of the corner of my eye I could see her warily eyeing the celebrating crowd that were too absorbed in the high of victory to notice their _Savior_ was having a meltdown.

It wouldn't remain that way, I knew. Soon enough they would all be clamouring for the _'Chosen One's_ attention and it would be an absolute nightmare.

A nightmare I probably wouldn't be able to deal with on a good day, let alone when it felt like my world was crumbling to ashes in my mouth.

Ron just nodded solemnly and apparated us back to the burrow.

* * *

 

It was a week before I seriously started panicking.

The ice in my veins and the burning in my lungs hadn't subsided--in fact, they were getting worse. _I_ was getting worse. I felt weaker, my magic was reluctant to answer my call and I tired easily.

I was losing not only a lot of weight, but sleep as well. I managed to escape to Grimmauld Place when it became obvious I wasn't getting any better, despite the Weasley's protests. It wasn't just the isolation I was hoping for, but the chance to comb the infamous Black Library without interruption or judgment.

Believe me, I loved the Weasleys dearly, they were the only family I knew - but there were certain things I just couldn't do with them around. Exploring such a cavern of Dark knowledge was one of them. I mean, if I hadn't put my foot down Mrs. Weasley would have burnt all the 'dark' and cursed books the summer before my sixth year.

It was another week of endless research(Ron would be disgusted and insisting I come play a game of chess instead) before I found what I was looking for, found out what was wrong.

I shoved the book off my lap in irritation, refusing to wince at the solid thud it made on the carpet on the lower level of the library. I could just hear Hermione screech at me from across town where she lived with the Weasleys.

I was dying.

I was dying because I'd killed Voldemort--because Voldemort was my _soulmate_.

I almost wanted to laugh, but I didn't have the energy to even lift myself out of the wingback I'd curled up in anymore. Of _course_ the homicidal megalomaniac that had tried his very best to kill me my whole life, was my soulmate. _Of bloody course_.

Potter (bad)luck at its finest.

I was startled out of my thoughts when a Gringotts hawk dropped a letter into my lap and then disappeared back out the window behind me. It was so sudden and random that I just sat there for a moment, my thoughts struggling through the thick molasses that was my tired mind. I stared dumbly at the letter before picking it up in shaky hands and summoning a knife.

It took a lot longer than it should have - a lot longer than it had yesterday, for my magic to respond to me but soon a basic opener materialised in my outstretched hand.

I pulled out the letter, discarding the envelope when there was the prickle of magic against my fingers that told me it was spelled to only open for me. The first thing I saw was the Slytherin crest sealed in green wax holding the letter folded.

I first thought of Hogwarts and McGonagall harping on about how I needed to finish my final year. But that was quickly shunted out the window when I realised the crest was the _family coat of arms_ , the indent made by a Lord's ring no doubt.  

I hadn't been aware of a new Lord taking up the mantle, since Vold--my stomach dropped out when I cracked the seal to see familiar - _too_ familiar - elegant script spanning the parchment.

There wasn't a new Lord, there couldn't be because Tom Marvolo Riddle was the last of the Gaunt line, who were the last of the Slytherin line. A-and he was dead. My breath hitched when I caught sight of my name at the top.

 

000

_Harry,_

_If you are reading this, it means I've failed. You probably won't believe me, but I never wanted to kill you - or anyone else, for that matter. Well, anyone_ _magical _ _anyway. I won't try to paint myself a saint, I know that won't work with you._

_There were so many ways I could have gone about helping the Wizarding World, shaping it into what I know it could have been. But I did something, Harry. Something bad. If I'm dead then you probably already know but, I made Horcruxes. Do you know what they are?_

_They're terrible horrible magic that no one should ever attempt, Harry. They're a set of rituals that split one's soul to be put into physical anchors. This is done so that none of the soul can move on to the afterlife should the host body die. What the books didn't say(or what I, in my hubris, decided to overlook) was that one Horcrux divides the soul in_ _half_ _and fills the ensuing space with Darkness._

_I made six. I am sure you realise what that means._

_I am writing this to you in one of my more lucid moments in the hopes that_ ~~_you can forgive_~~ _you can understand why I did what I did, why I hurt you and did so many terrible things._

_I made my first Horcrux when I was sixteen, a little bit older than you at the time I am writing this. You must understand, of course, I grew up in the midst of the muggles' Second World War in an orphanage that barely had the resources to function. Then again, no one but the 1% at the very top could do more than survive back then._

_It was horrible, and not just because of rationing or the nights I had to spend shivering in the undergrounds of Kings Cross as sirens blared overhead signalling an attack from the Germans. I was outcasted for having magic, called a freak - the Head Matron even had me 'exorcised' once - but I've gotten off track._

_What I was trying to say was that, through all this I developed the crippling fear of Death. It only got worse when I went to Hogwarts, was given the illusion of safety only to be thrust back into the thick of it every summer with no way to defend myself._

_If what I gleaned from your mind earlier this year is correct, then you surely can relate, can't you?_

_That first Horcrux...wasn't exactly planned. Myrtle's death was an accident, but one I took advantage of nonetheless. Make no mistake, Harry, even before that I wasn't what many would consider 'good' or 'nice' even if I was very good at pretending otherwise._

_Still, it changed me. The Darkness corrupted my mind, exaggerated my worst traits and exacerbated my fears._

_Due to this, I made more than any other had before, more than was wise._

_The soul is a very sacred thing, Harry. You must never mess about with Soul Magic, there are some lines I have learned should never be crossed. With more of my soul being divided, I lost not only my mind but my magic as well. _

_By the time I came back from my world travels, I was no longer considering the political approach. My Knights of Walpurgis became Death Eaters and I became the most feared Dark Lord in centuries, worse than Grindelwald ever could be._

_When the Prophecy came about, I was already lost to the madness._

_This was my own fault, this I do not deny. But there is also something else I wish for you to consider; that of the role of Albus Dumbledore. Maybe not in my fall into madness, but of your own situation. I believe you know most of the pieces already, you just have yet to put them together._

_I would urge you to think carefully about just how much sway he has over the wizarding world, I think you might be unpleasantly surprised. I know I was._

_I believe this letter is getting too long, my time growing short before what is left of my sanity is shredded once and for all. I will be obliviating the existence of this letter from my mind because I cannot trust myself not to bully the Goblins into destroying it._

_I hope that, one day, you might forgive me._

_Tom Marvolo Gaunt-Slytherin,_

_Lord of the most Ancient House of Slytherin_  
000

 

I was stunned. Horrified. Disgusted(at who, I didn't know) and I was guilty at my role in all of it, the role Dumbledore and the rest of the Wizarding World felt fit to force onto my too-thin shoulders from the age of eleven. But the one emotion shining above all else?

_Grief._

I found myself grieving for my soulmate's pain and fear, for a little orphan boy that was taught the cruelties of life far too early and grew up alone and hated.

I remembered the memories Dumbledore had showed me, in an attempt to turn me against my soulmate once and for all - at least in _his_ mind because doubtless he didn't realise what it would do to me, how I could empathise so clearly with my supposed arch-nemesis' plight.

I needed a drink.


End file.
